Fumbling Darkly
by Assuage Autophobia
Summary: Truth was, Sam and Dean had a very specific kind of life, the kind that isolated them from anybody and everybody. Anyone they happened to love died, brutally, because of them. They only had each other, and sometimes it felt like no matter how hard they wanted to expand, they couldn't. Wincest.


Fumbling Darkly

The first time Sam had an orgasm from someone other than himself, it was in his brother's mouth.

They were drunk. Of course they were, because how else would something like this happen? People didn't just wake up one morning and stick their dick in their brother's mouth to say good morning. Maybe they did because Sam wasn't naïve enough to think they were the only brothers to have even done things together, but he doubted anybody would be that blatant the first time.

It was springtime, Sam was sixteen and Dean was twenty-one and they were alone, like always. The older they grew, the less time their father seemed to have for them, and the more he trusted them to be alone without getting themselves killed, although if Sam were honest, he really thought that Dad only ever left because he knew Dean was there to watch over his every little move. Dean pretended like he wasn't a mothering hen, never leaving Sam's side or taking his eyes off him and acted like he was just hanging out with his younger brother because man, did he love hanging out with his younger, awesome brother. Really? Because none of the brothers Sam knew at school liked hanging out with their younger brothers.

But Sam let Dean think he was being suave about it. When Dean watched scary movies all night with him, Sam was glad to have the company and didn't call attention to the fact he knew Dean wasn't doing it because he wanted to and when Dean brought home some alcohol to drink with his little brother, he didn't call him out on the fact it was just a ploy to do his duty and watch Sam while Dad was hunting alone.

It wasn't like he hadn't noticed that Dean was attractive before. Of course he had, it was an objective fact, but he'd never even really thought to himself that he was attracted _to_ him. He'd never entertained the idea of having his brother give him a blowjob. He'd never even thought of kissing his brother, at least not consciously. Some part of him must have because how else would it have happened? Even if he hadn't ever consciously thought of Dean in that way, he must not have been repulsed by the idea of it like most normal siblings were. Maybe he had never thought about it, but if he had thought about it, he would've liked thinking about it.

In either case, they'd been drinking. How they had both ended up on the floor laughing hysterically when they'd been sitting on their own individual beds was just as much of a mystery as to how Dean had ended up shoving his tongue down Sam's throat and palming the front of his jeans. He had told Dean that he'd never made out with anyone (kissing was another story) so he "wouldn't know" about the sounds people make and Dean mocking him for it, so maybe it had started off as a joke. Maybe he'd been trying to help Sam practice in some misguided, drunken misunderstanding of how to help your younger brother out and getting carried away.

Whatever the case was, Dean was making out with him, rubbing the bulge in his jeans frantically, and Sam wasn't pulling away. He was pushing into his hand and moaning into his mouth, and letting Dean unbuckle his jeans and suck him off; wet, warm mouth descending on his cock over and over until he was coming harder than he ever had in his life, because until that point all he'd known was his hand and a few old porno mags Dad didn't think they knew existed. It had felt good and what sixteen-year-old boy the very first time he'd ever been drunk would push away something that felt good?

Dean wasted no time whipping out his own cock and jerking off on Sam's shirt.

It wasn't really until they'd gone into the bathroom that he'd really thought about what they'd done. It struck him, very suddenly, that Dean was brushing his teeth to get the taste of _his_ semen out of his mouth, and that he was taking off his shirt because he needed to wash his brother's ejaculate off of it.

He didn't tell Dean anything. He went to his bed and fell asleep. Fitfully.

The next morning, Dean didn't so much as mumble a hello when they locked eyes from each other's beds. He simply got up, got dressed, and left the motel.

Sam didn't mind being left alone. In fact he preferred it, especially after what had happened. He'd never noticed Dean's mouth before, not in any way other than what was normal, but now he thought about it; about how red and soft it was and how it had felt to have it wrapped around his cock, pumping with his hand what he couldn't fit into his mouth.

He was nauseated at the fact he'd just shouted out vowels in ecstasy less than twelve hours ago while thrusting his dick into his own brother's mouth. Burning guilt roiled in the pit of his stomach, forced bile into his throat, as he, for what was the first time in his life, thought about Dean's chest, and naked body, and strong, muscled thighs. Memories of Dean grunting above him, mouth open and eyes squeezed closed while he came all over him flashed in his mind, and he wanted to puke.

He was also, more importantly, horny.

He jerked off. Multiple times. Remembered the feel of a tongue undulating around him and how intense the orgasm had been.

Maybe it was just a weird phase. He had to get it out of his system before his mind would let him move on.

When Dad had returned and realized Dean left Sam alone, it had been hell. The argument that followed Dean's return a few hours after Dad's hadn't been pleasant for either of them, but Dean never told Dad why he left.

Dean hardly spoke to Sam for the next two weeks. Sam hated himself for taking extra time in the shower each morning to remember their stupid drunken fling, but he couldn't help the fact it turned him on when he thought about it. He'd never thought about Dean before like that, but now that he'd experienced it, he could. And did. And grunted at the shower drain and hated himself a little more each time.

* * *

It really, honestly, should have ended after that. And for a long time, it did.

Sam had dated girls after that, and enjoyed them. He liked girls. To be honest, he liked boys too, but not as much. It didn't matter though, because he knew how his dad felt about boys who liked each other and he hated him enough for not being gung-ho about the "family business" and he wasn't about to give him more ammo. However, because of the nature of what they did, they moved around a lot so it prevented Sam from making any real, serious connections with anyone he dated. It also made it easier to move away from anyone he might not want his dad finding out about, and keep it a secret.

He and Dean never spoke about it. The only time they ever even slightly acknowledged it had happened was when their father made an Arkansas joke, or was it Alabama? Either way, he'd made a joke about cousins, and brothers fucking sisters, and Sam had met Dean's eyes across the table without meaning to. It was only for a moment, and they looked away right after, but the stirring in his gut and tightness in his throat proved it had happened. The fact Dean was quiet the rest of the day and spent the night elsewhere was proof he'd noticed, too.

Sam may have allowed himself a quick jerk off or two at the memory, but for the most part it had dwindled and Sam had thought he was right about his initial thought; that he just needed to get it out of his system and move on, and he had done just that.

But then he was eighteen. He was eighteen and graduated, and had been accepted months ago to his dream university. He'd waited until Dean and Dad were both asleep to pack up everything, but he knew he'd never be able to leave without one of them waking and he wasn't cruel enough to leave without a goodbye (even if he knew it was going to be a painful, and loud, and most likely a bitter one).

Maybe he was being self-loathing and wanted a real good reason to justify the hatred he had churning his gut, and no way was he going to allow himself to blame that on leaving home and doing what he wanted with his life so he needed that instead. Maybe he was scared he'd never be able to really, truly see Dean again, because as far as he was concerned he'd taken more care of him than Dad ever had, and he wanted to have one hell of a goodbye; one final, intense moment to last him forever. Or maybe he knew he wouldn't see Dean again and so he didn't care if he did something stupid.

Whatever the reason, he'd gone to his room and woke him up gently, because he wasn't a moron and knew it wasn't a good idea to wake up a man who kept a knife under his pillow with anything less than subtlety.

"Sam?" slurred Dean, rubbing at his eyes. "Y'okay?"

"I'm fine." He'd been leaning over Dean and realized, not for the first time, but this time it didn't precede guilt or nausea, but sadness instead, that Dean was beautiful. He wanted to say he loved him because he did-he really, truly did, in the way all brothers did-but considering what he was about to do, even if he was trying to tell himself that what was about to happen was something he hadn't planned for at all-he couldn't do it.

"Why you wakin' me up for then?" he grumbled, scowling at him.

Sam kissed him. Softer than he'd intended, though, but Dean didn't pull away. He hummed and turned his head, sleepily letting Sam take control.

It wasn't the first time he'd had sex. Hell, it wasn't even the first time he'd had sex with a guy. But it was the first time with Dean, and it was meant to be the last.

He'd settled atop him and searched his mouth; hoped, as horrible as it made him and disgusted with himself as he was to even have the thought, that Dean would see how much he'd improved since last time. It was sick. He wanted his brother to be proud of him in the way brothers were proud when their siblings didn't brake too quickly for the first time while driving, but over a damn kiss.

He knew Dean kept lube, and Dean didn't try to stop him from slicking his cock with it and impaling himself with it. They didn't want to wake Dad or Bobby, so as much as Sam wanted to ride and grind and hop on his dick, feel it slamming against his prostate repeatedly while he shouted out Dean's name and the bed slammed against the wall, he didn't. He worked it slowly, building himself up to a slow, but intense, orgasm, emptying himself on Dean's chest, his own hand slapped against his mouth to muffle his moans, while Dean did the same, eyes squeezed shut.

Sam rode him for two full minutes after he'd came; rode him, slowly, clenching himself tightly, until Dean came deep inside him.

He owed him that much.

The ache in his chest intensified when he swung himself off Dean's body, chest rising and falling with heavy breath, and he held onto Sam's fingers, as if trying to tug him back into bed. Sam pulled away because this was exactly why in his head it had been rough and hard, because it was too much like making love when it was slow, and this wasn't about that. He loved his brother, but not like _that._

The shouting match they had before he left fuelled him into leaving, because he knew it would, and he knew he would've had a harder time leaving if Dad hadn't been furious. He didn't think he was selfish for leaving, but he knew that if he hadn't had sex with Dean to blame that selfishness on, he would have.

* * *

It was easy to forget things you didn't want to remember. Even if they weren't ever really forgotten, you get used to pushing it back of your mind so that it's not something you dwell on, or are even really all that aware of existing until it gets brought up. Like an old embarrassing memory of you vomiting in first grade in front of your crush; it's there but at the same time it's not.

After a few years, sex with Dean was like that.

It became habit to wince out of disgust when incest was mentioned instead of discomfort. After awhile, it wasn't even habit anymore, but his genuine, initial response. Whenever he did remember what they'd done, it was just a memory he could easily brush aside as nothing, like the time he'd written angsty, really deeply emotional poetry every day for weeks over a stupid crush he had on his math teacher. It was something that had happened in the past, some weird, completely unhealthy, thing that had happened because he'd had a dysfunctional childhood, and shit like that happened when you grew up in a broken home and dealt with monsters from an early age.

For God's sake, he wasn't even attracted to Dean, or in love with him. He knew that Dean was attractive, and he loved him as a brother, and they'd happened to have sex. It meant nothing, and that was the honest truth.

He was genuinely grossed out that people would write fanfiction about them having sex. Initially. And, initially, he hadn't even remembered or thought about the fact that it, well, did have a bit of canon, as the fangirls would say, to it. Initially, none of it had mattered.

But who wouldn't be a little curious to read something here and there if they found out people actually cared enough about them to write fanfiction? And some of the stories were well-written and hot.

And for a few weeks, that was all it was. Sam would get bored when he was alone, or Dean was asleep, and need a break from research to recharge. Dean watched porn and Sam did too; everybody needed a quick release now and again and sometimes, Sam would pull up a fanfic and relieve himself to the smut written on screen.

He needed to get it out of his system, just like before, and now that he had this to do it with, there wouldn't be anymore actual incest going on between them. It was simply masturbation fodder, and everybody masturbated to things they'd never really do in real life.

It had been a few days since the last time he'd given into the urge and he'd come halfway through what had been an interesting story, plot-wise. So he'd wanted to go back to it, and pulled up the history. He'd gotten used to scrolling through Dean's porn usage, and Dean had stopped deleting the browsing history ages ago-whether out of the assumption Sam never looked through it, or out of the assumption that if he did look he didn't care, Sam didn't know.

He recognized the sites Dean had been going to in his spare time, and his heart stopped.

Dean had been jerking off to the fanfics too.

Somehow, simply knowing that was a lot more satisfying than it should've been.

Maybe he'd been distracted with the new knowledge or maybe it had been on purpose. Sam really didn't know. But he'd started leaving up particularly hot ones up on the tab, knowing Dean would see it, and knowing Dean would realize Sam had read it. After awhile, he'd log into the computer and Dean would suspiciously leave the room, only to find that a story he hadn't been reading would be left up for him.

They never shared knowing glances. They didn't talk about it or even mention the computer, or fanfiction, or the book series at all.

One night, Sam read one with Dean in the room. He didn't shy away from rubbing himself through his pants as he read, and Dean continued watching television. He unzipped himself and stroked his cock until it was hard, and grunted and moaned as he would if he'd been alone.

Ears burning, throat constricted, he pushed his pants to his ankles and kept going.

Dean calmly turned off the television, walked over to him, and fell to his knees.

Sam didn't remember the drunken blowjob very well, but enough to know Dean had improved. He'd had enough blowjobs, and given enough, in his own lifetime to know that he was no novice, and he hadn't been then, either.

And absolutely nobody pushed a chair back and impaled himself the way Dean did a few minutes later for their first time, nor did people walk around with anal lubricant in their pocket if they weren't at least open to the idea to getting fucked.

They weren't quiet. They hollered and shouted and grunted and scratched and they didn't last long; Sam came first and Dean rode him out through the orgasm, then slid off the chair and fucked Sam's mouth until he came.

It was hard, fast, and loud, and then they washed up. Dean turned on the television and Sam researched the case.

He stopped leaving tabs open for Dean to read.

* * *

It began again when Sam was soulless.

Dean and Lisa were no longer together and even if he wouldn't admit it, Dean was sad. Sam didn't care because well, he didn't have a soul. Dean knew it, too, so he didn't even bother him with it. But at least before Lisa, Dean would go out and have a one night stand or two and stop moping until he got an itch that needed scratching, then go out again.

Somehow, settling down and seeing what domestic life was like had sullied that for him.

Sam didn't understand and he didn't care to, because he was soulless. But he didn't like Dean moping because it was annoying, and when he'd walked in on Dean jerking off into the toilet, he didn't hesitate to roll his eyes, come up behind him, reach around and finish the job.

He didn't even ask Dean to repay the favor, because he hadn't cared. He'd just wanted the bathroom to himself.

If he felt particularly horny later than night while Dean was asleep and woke him up and fucked his brains out because why bother masturbating when you can get laid, well that was nobody's business but theirs. It wasn't as if either of them could get pregnant.

If the discovered that it was easier to fuck each other out of anger then get into a circular argument that went nowhere, who cared? An orgasm was an orgasm, and they could hate-fuck each other as consenting adults if they damn well pleased.

It became a regular occurrence, and Sam knew Dean hated himself for it. He didn't care. He also didn't care when Dean insulted and ranted while he pounded into him or when they got into arguments about how much Dean wished he would just die because he couldn't believe what he was doing to his little brother and that it wasn't right of him to take advantage of the soulless situation, but he never stopped. Sam wasn't an idiot; it was a vicious cycle. Dean hated himself for fucking Sam, but he fucked him because he hated himself.

Sam didn't turn down free sex, so he let it happen.

He got his soul back so he forgot.

But then he remembered.

Lucifer taunted him, he retched some nights at the memories he couldn't shut off, and Dean knew none the wiser. Sam saw the guilt and hatred in his eyes when he happened to see Sam in nothing but a towel; noticed the pinched lips and grimace when he'd been staring too long and hadn't had sex for awhile.

And Sam couldn't make it better because somewhere, deep inside, even if he had been soulless, it had still be him. A part of him, no matter how deeply buried, let it happen. _Made_ it happen. That same part that didn't shove his drunken brother away that first night; the same part of him that slowly rode his brother to climax; the same part that got off knowing Dean was masturbating to the same damn stories he was.

Maybe this time it could be put to an end and one day, eventually, Sam would be able to shut up the voice in his head that reminded him that sometimes, only sometimes, Sam would remember with his hand around his cock, and muffle his brother's name into his pillow.

* * *

Sam wasn't in love with Dean. He never would be. He knew damn well that Dean wasn't in love with him, either. As much as they loved each other, it wasn't like that, even if he sometimes wished it was because it would be simpler.

Truth was, Sam and Dean had a very specific kind of life, the kind that isolated them from anybody and everybody. Anyone they happened to love died, brutally, because of them. They only had each other, and sometimes it felt like no matter how hard they wanted to expand, they couldn't.

He'd never had a choice. From the first time Dad had left Dean to take care of him on his own, and the first time Dad told them they couldn't make friends and put them in danger, the first time someone close to them had died simply from knowing them, it was all leading up to this.

It wasn't an excuse.

What they had was fucked up. It was sick, and it wasn't healthy, and Sam didn't even like it. Sometimes it felt like he was being tugged deeper and deeper into a dark pit and he'd never be able to escape it. If he could be with someone other than Dean, he would, but he couldn't because any time either of them tried, it went to shit.

They only had each other, and they'd screwed up too many times before to stop.

Maybe one day they could really get it out of their system. One day Sam could settle down and have the normal life he'd always wanted, and Dean could travel the country, hunting things with someone at his side. He never allowed himself to think of specific people when he had those thoughts, for either him or Dean, because then it was admitting those people mattered, and that they could never, ever be honest with them. If they were, it would be sucking them into this fucked up, sick game they had, and who would want to stay with someone incestuous?

It hadn't been a tearful reunion that had started it. It hadn't been something tender. Sam was many things, but a liar he wasn't, and this had never been about love. Curiosity, hate, anger, horniness, convenience; anything but love. Their love for each other was separate, and when they discussed the year Dean had been gone, that was something else. That was a different part of them.

"I know you remember," Dean had said while they got ready for bed one night.

"Remember?" He truly hadn't understood what Dean meant. After all, it had been almost three years since they'd even touched each other.

"When you were soulless. The Wall's down."

"Oh." He hadn't necessarily forgotten about what they'd done, but it had been blissfully gone from his mind for a long enough time that remembered was lie ka punch to the gut. "Look, Dean-"

"Don't apologize. You didn't rape me, Sam." They caught eyes across the room and Sam couldn't look away. "We've always had each other. We've never had the luxury of having anyone else. I started this mess." Sam went to correct him, but Dean shook his head. "I'm your big brother, and I did this to you. To us. I was supposed to take care of you."

"Dean-"

"No. Let me finish." Sam closed his mouth. "I was lonely. I was young, and I was lonely, and I wanted something-anything-okay? I realized that our lives are going to be short, brutal, and end bloody. I was tired of the meaningless fucks, and I was having a goddamn existential crisis because I'd seen a goddamn married couple, okay? I wanted to get drunk. Wanted to numb everything, and there you were, sixteen and never made out, and I realize what the hell? What the hell are we doing with our lives Sam? I was an adult, you weren't, and I kissed you. Do you know what that makes me?"

"You didn't molest me, Dean. You think I wasn't alone, too? So alone that I just took what was handed to me?"

Dean shut his mouth, then after a long while, nodded. "Okay."

They turned off the lights, and went to their individual beds.

Sam tried to sleep for what was one of the longest twenty minutes of his life. He mulled over memories that were half-arousing and half-nauseating until Dean crawled into bed with him, half-hard and sticking his hand in Sam's underwear. "Oh thank God," Sam had muttered before grabbing his head and plundering his mouth.

They fucked. There was no other word for it.

They didn't stop. Two weeks in, and he's on his knees, sucking Dean like a pro, pumping his cock and choking back pre-cum. He knew that tomorrow he would likely be bent over the table, crying out without concern for the neighboring rooms, and the night after that, Dean would be on his knees while Sam thrust into him. It was never nice, or soft. They didn't make love, because they weren't in love.

Purgatory had unleashed something in Dean; something pure, something unrestrained, and Sam couldn't even bring himself to pretend he cared. At least with Dean's cock in his mouth and his own dick twitching in his hand, he knew where he was and he wasn't pretending anymore. All he'd ever known was Dean, and the crushing loneliness that forced them to depend on each other. It wasn't pretty, but it was the truth.

They were both too far gone for anything else.

* * *

Notes: I've done like two prompts on tumblr before this, so this is my first "real" fic I've published. I know it's angsty but I like it that way. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it. Don't hesitate to review!


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